


Just Having Trouble Finding North

by ModernMyth



Series: The Years Burn [2]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Canon Compliant, F/M, Natasha-centric, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernMyth/pseuds/ModernMyth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This thing between them has been unspoken all too long, and she thinks she's finally tired of waiting. That she just may be ready to chase after it.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Sequel to <i>Like a Mirror Reflecting Me</i>. A fill-in-the-blanks look at the relationship between Bruce and Natasha during Age of Ultron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Having Trouble Finding North

**Author's Note:**

> At long last, I finally post the sequel to Like a Mirror, Reflecting Me! If you haven't read that (the first work in this series) or don't remember what it was about, I highly recommend going back and reading it before reading this, as this story directly references scenes in LaMRM (which is a pre-AoU fill-in-the-blanks look at how Bruce/Natasha develop their relationship, etc). This story is set during Age of Ultron, so a lot of the dialogue (obviously) is not mine. I took some liberties (just roll with them!) but still kept the story canon-compliant. Sorry this took me nine hundred years (or, like, a couple of months) to write. Hope you enjoy!

 

_They raid the right HYDRA base not long after that; the one with Loki's scepter. It's a hell of a fight, with one enhanced in the field and more HYDRA forces than they have fought against before. But they come out the other side on top, as they always do._

_"We're locked down out here," she tells Steve over the comms._

_"Then get to Banner. Time for a lullaby."_

_Natasha finds him flinging around pieces of scrap metal._

_"Hey, Big Guy. Sun's getting real low."_

The Hulk turns at the sound of her voice, and Natasha crouches, lowering herself closer to the ground to appear as non-threatening as possible. She's already removed her glove, so she extends a hand and faces her palm towards him in offering. He approaches slowly, huffing and breathing hard. He's inches away from her now, and she is on eye-level with him. The Hulk stares at her hand for a moment, recognizing the gesture, then he mirrors her position, unfurling his fingers to face the palm of his giant hand toward hers. Natasha tilts her hand, palm towards the sky, and the Hulk rests the back of his hand in hers. She strokes down the top of his hand, then brings her fingertips to rest on his pulse point on the inside of his wrist. The Big Guy meets her eyes as she begins to trail her fingers downwards, skating across rough skin and seeing Bruce Banner's gentle look somewhere in his eyes. The Hulk lets out tiny huffs of breath and calms at her ministrations. The corners of her lips turn up as he stares at her, and Natasha strokes her hand all the way down to the tips of his fingers.

He stares at her for another moment, and she looks at him expectantly. The Big Guy stumbles back, catching himself with a hand to the ground. Natasha stands again and crooks a tiny smile, looking away from him as he begins to transform. A minute later, Bruce is laying shirtless and shivering in the Hulk's place, blinking his eyes in adjustment. She approaches after giving him a moment to breathe and extends a hand to him. He takes it, and she helps pull him to a stand.

"Go okay?" he croaks out.

Natasha nods. "Just fine. Having the Big Guy out there was a serious help."

He gives a grunt of acknowledgement, and Natasha wraps an arm around him and shifts a little of his weight onto her as he stumbles. 

"You alright?" she asks.

"Fine." He lets out a sigh. "Just my usual winning combination of on-edge and overly-exhausted."

She smiles sympathetically at him. "Well, quinjet's not far from here."

He nods, and they make the rest of the walk in relative silence. Bruce is usually like this after a transformation; quiet, introspective, and a little shaky on his feet as he regains his sensibilities and deals with the fallout of the Code Green. Natasha knows he likes feeling helpful, but every transformation takes a toll on him nonetheless, leaving him wondering about the lives he's taken and having flashbacks to loss of control. 

When they arrive at the quintet, Bruce looks a bit more like himself, and he's leaning less on Natasha. She helps him to his usual chair, tossing him the shirt he'd left behind earlier. That's the nice thing for Bruce about transforming now, she thinks. When a Code Green gets called, he usually has a couple seconds to remove his shirt before shifting forms, instead of being left with tattered remnants of useless clothing. She turns away from him as he starts to pull his shirt back on, and she heads over to check in with the others. 

She takes a seat behind Stark as they lift off. A few minutes later, they're in the air, and Natasha heads back into the main cabin. She stops by Clint, who is looking worryingly still, but he's hooked up to an IV and Stark has already contacted Dr. Cho, so she knows he'll be fine. Hopefully the doctor will have Barton patched up in no time, and Laura won't have one more scar to worry about the next time her husband comes home. 

Natasha walks past Clint, reminding herself forcibly that he'll be just fine, and heads toward Banner. Bruce is sitting in his chair where she last left him, head down and headphones on. He's listening to opera, she's certain, like he always does when he needs to cool off and relax after a Code Green. She'd been the one to suggest it in the first place, months ago when he first started coming into the field with her and the rest of the Avengers. Bruce looks up when she approaches, and he quickly removes his headphones when she sits down across from him. 

"Hey, the lullaby worked better than ever."

She knows he's still feeling rattled, and she hopes the statement comes across as a reassurance. 

He's still not looking at her. "Just wasn't expecting a Code Green."

"If you hadn't been there, there would've been double the casualties." She glances toward Clint. "My best friend would've been a treasured memory." Her lips curl up in a hint of a smile.

"You know, sometimes exactly what I want to hear isn't exactly what I want to hear."

Her smile falters slightly. "How long before you trust me?"

Bruce shakes his head, voice low. "It's not you I don't trust."

She can tell he means it, voice raw and honest. Her smile returns, and the look they share becomes intimate so quickly that she finds herself blinking and looking away. 

"Thor, report on the Hulk."

"The gates of hell are filled with the screams of his victims."

If Natasha thought she were physically capable of it, she would have killed the demigod on the spot. Even if he _is_ trying to be constructive. 

She gives Thor a look that's equal parts horror and irritation as Bruce lets out a groan and puts his head in his hands.

Thor backtracks, but his explanations only get worse the more he goes on, try as he might. Bruce almost smiles at his mention of 'sprained deltoids' but the scientist still retreats back into his shell. She knows it will take her hours to get him back into the real world again and out of that head of his. 

* * *

Natasha finds him on the roof that night. She tells herself she's not looking for him, that she's only up there because she can't sleep. Except she's actually pretty exhausted, and it's been a long but successful day. She thinks if she were to try, she would get to sleep just fine for once. But they had a Code Green today, and she knows that tends to lead to sleepless nights for Bruce (a pattern she'd discovered by accident as they began to have more and more Code Greens; nearly every single night after he was needed in the field, she would find him restless in the kitchen or watching a movie at 2 AM or quietly pondering on the rooftop). So after taking a shower and changing into sweatpants and an old t-shirt, instead of crawling into bed, she heads up to the roof in search of him.

"Doing okay?" she asks, voice measured. 

Bruce turns at the noise and grants her a small smile. "I'm fine. Just couldn't sleep."

She takes her place beside him like she's done it a thousand times before. Natasha has been up on the roof with all of the Avengers previously, on more than one occasion, but somehow this place has come to feel like _theirs,_ hers and Bruce's. It's where all of this - whatever their _this_ may be -  began. It's the place where she's grown to know him. 

Natasha nods. "Feeling relieved you're off Code Green duty?"

He lets out a shaky laugh. "Am I ever really off Code Green duty?"

She tilts her head. "For a while, at least."

"Until the next alien invasion."

She gives him an amused smile. "Until then."

There's a moment’s silence, but it's comfortable. He rests his hand beside hers, grazing her pinky with his.

"How's Clint?" he asks.

"Good as new, thankfully." Because she knows it will help him even if he feels embarrassed and uncomfortable, she adds, "Thanks to the Big Guy."

Bruce shakes his head at her like she's crazy and rubs the back of his neck unconsciously. He doesn't say anything because he can't deny that the Other Guy saved Barton in the field, but he also doesn't think that he's earned any of this. Bruce has never been comfortable with praise. Especially praise for the monster inside him that has done just as much harm as good.

"I'm serious," she says in a low voice.

He sighs. "I know you are, Natasha."

She takes the opportunity to move her hand over his. Bruce's posture relaxes slightly. 

Natasha is quiet, hand on top of his, rubbing tiny circles on his skin with her thumb. 

Bruce breathes out a pleased-sounding little sigh at the contact, and he shifts his gaze to her.

"You said the lullaby went better than ever?"

She smiles affectionately at his hopeful tone. She nods. "It really did. He responded right away. Barely took a moment."

"I'm glad it worked so well."

"Personally," she smirks a little, "I think he just likes holding my hand."

Bruce flushes slightly and turns his hand over, bringing his palm to hers. He interlaces their fingers with a bout of confidence she hadn't expected.

"Well," he says, squeezing her hand. "You can hardly blame a guy for _that_."

Natasha laughs a little at this, grinning at him. "Hardly," she agrees. 

They stay like that for a little while, hand in hand, shoulders touching and the pair of them looking out over the skyline together like they have so many times before. She thinks about the night a few weeks ago when they almost kissed, falling asleep together on the couch in front of an old movie and waking up with their faces inches apart. She thinks about kissing him now, about what it would be like to take his face in her hands and catch his lips between hers. But it doesn't feel like the right time yet. This thing with them is still fragile, and the last thing she wants to do is scare him off with a physical overture. 

So she keeps her hand in his, stroking his thumb with hers, and after about twenty minutes, she gives him a small smile and pulls away. He looks a little disappointed at the loss and tries unsuccessfully to hide it. Natasha places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it briefly, then trails her hand down his shoulder and along his arm, all the way down to his hand and the tips of his fingers. A gentle echo of a lullaby, one he probably needs tonight after the day's chaos. She hopes he carries her touch with him into sleep. 

"Night, Bruce," she whispers. 

She thinks she could stay out there with him for hours more and be perfectly content. But it's a bad idea because she's tired, and the more time she spends in his presence, the more she wants to tell him about how she's feeling; more specifically, how she's feeling about _him_. Natasha wants to make it clear soon, but she hasn't decided what to say or how she wants to go about it. This thing between them has been unspoken all too long, and she thinks she's finally tired of waiting. That she just may be ready to chase after it. 

But she hasn't decided how exactly she wants to play this yet, and she thinks it all may come spilling out of her if she spends too much more time alone with him - which, really, is quite laughable, she thinks, because she has survived many an _enhanced interrogation_ and has never broken once. But it's different with him, somehow, like she lost her filter with him somewhere along the way, _wants_ to tell him what she’s thinking. So she walks away, leaves him with a lingering smile, and heads back downstairs to her room. 

(Much later, Natasha wishes she'd stayed the extra hours with him that night, when things had seemed so simple between them, living on borrowed time. It is a very, very long while before they make it back up to that rooftop together again.)

* * *

The party in celebration of the successful HYDRA raid and locating of Loki's scepter is in full swing. Natasha isn't the biggest partier, generally preferring small gatherings over large social situations (though she is _excellent_ at working a room, if she does say so herself). She's having fun, however, mixing her own vodka-infused drinks behind the bar whenever she runs dry (because if she has learned one thing, it is to never trust a cocktail she has not mixed herself) and chatting amicably with Rhodey for a while, then a few other partygoers. 

Natasha is working on mixing her third drink of the night when she spots Bruce approaching, so she pulls out another martini glass to make him one, too. She keeps his light on the spirits - he's not a huge drinker, though he's snagged her bottle of vodka from her for a pull of the liquor on more than one occasion. He always does stick to his one drink limit, though, so he can keep his wits about him. Staying in control is pretty important to a person when they've got a raging beast inside, trying to work it's way out at any given moment.

She smirks slightly as he walks up to the bar and watches as he removes his glasses.

"How'd a nice girl like you wind up working in a dump like this?"

It takes everything in her not to break character and grin. They've been flirting for months, really, but he's not usually quite so obvious about it, even if this sort of roleplay isn't entirely new territory for them. They’ve spent plenty of time marathoning old movies together and slipping into an easy banter. She can tell he must be feeling as good as she is, now that the battle is done and there's something to celebrate. He looks more relaxed than she's seen him in weeks.

Natasha lets out a put-upon sigh and continues to work on the drinks. 

She replies in an Old Hollywood voice, "Fella done me wrong."

"You got lousy taste in men, kid."

She puts a cherry in his drink and pushes it across the bar toward him.

"He's not so bad." She adds, "He has a temper." Natasha watches as Bruce's eyes change, realizing this bit they're doing isn't really much of a _bit_ , at all. She's sliding a slice of reality into their games. She continues, "Deep down he's all fluff."

She realizes then that this can be _it_. This can be how she tests the waters with Bruce. Let him know how she feels about him under the thinly veiled guise of roleplay. She couldn't have planned it better, really, and she's glad for the opportunity that has presented itself. She can put herself out there without having to give too much of herself away. 

He gives a bashful little smile and takes a sip of his drink, and she thinks maybe she's shocked him with her statements. 

They've been at this thing a while, and she wants to make her intentions clear. To make how she's feeling about him clear. This isn't just a game to her, anymore. It never really was.

"The fact is," she continues, "He's not like anybody I've ever known."

They're still roleplaying, technically, but she makes sure he can read the truth in her eyes. Actively tries not to hide it. 

He looks at her for a long moment, honest surprise and a little longing etched into his features.

The corner of her mouth quirks up as she looks at him, and she continues. "All my friends are fighters." She pauses, trying to decide how to phrase things. "And here comes this guy who spends his life avoiding the fight because he knows he'll win."

It takes him a moment to process the remark. She thinks maybe she has hit a little too close to home when he hides behind his drink. "He sounds amazing."

"He's also a huge dork." Bruce looks down, so she adds. "Chicks dig that."

He looks a little more comfortable and a touch amused when he meets her eyes again.

She takes a breath. "So what do you think, should I…fight this? Or run with it?"

"Run with it, right? Or…" He becomes the exact huge dork she's just labeled him as, bumbling through his nervous words. She finds it oddly adorable. "Did he…was he…what did he do that was so…wrong to you?"

"Not a damn thing," she says with a little smile, eyes alight. "But never say never."

Natasha turns to leave, drink in hand, and hopes to hell she won't end up eating her final words in the long run. 

* * *

The party winds down a few hours later, and they're left buzzed and attempting to lift Thor's hammer. Natasha is barely able to repress a laugh when it's Bruce's turn, flailing around. She passes when she's offered a turn, content to watch the rest of them make asses out of themselves. 

And then a tangled heap of robotics going by the name of Ultron shows up and attacks. Bruce lands on top of her when they're hiding from the line of fire.

"Sorry."

She only has a second to meet his eyes. "Don't turn green."

"I won't," he breathes out.

Then she's grabbing a gun she'd stashed beneath the bar and shooting at Ultron, covering herself and Bruce as they run up the stairs. 

He won't meet her eyes during Ultron's little speech, and she knows then that he must have helped Tony create the murderous hunk of metal that stands before them. A few moments later, Thor throws his hammer and shatters the robot to bits. The buzz of the party has been killed quite effectively, and they all head to the lab to figure things out. Arguments break out, Thor going as far as to put Tony in a chokehold. 

This is all partially Bruce's fault, she knows, but she doesn't want to blame him - he's doing enough of that on his own, and placing blame won't get Ultron defeated any faster. Bruce has created another monster, and this one could wind up being even more destructive than the Hulk. He's been shouldering enough of a burden for _that_ far too long, already. She knows his intentions were pure, working on this project with Tony. He wanted to help, just like he always does, wanting his brilliant mind to be the thing that saves the day instead of the beast within. She understands that. 

Natasha pats him on the shoulder. "So much for time off."

"Well, at least it's not an alien invasion."

She's sure to give him a sympathetic smile before she leaves the room.

* * *

When they track Ultron down off the coast of Wakanda, the battle goes alright for a little while. It seems like they’ll manage just fine, like they always do, in the end. 

Then the Scarlet Witch shows up, and the battle fades away. 

Natasha is walking down a familiar winding staircase, watching the ballerinas in the studio bourrée across the floor en pointe. She wonders idly how many of the girls have blood in their shoes to match the blood on their hands. Natasha watches from outside the studio.

"You'll break them," she tells Madame. 

"Only the breakable ones."

They never broke her, but so many girls before and after her had.

"You are made of marble."

Etched and carved into being exactly what they wanted her to be.

"We'll celebrate after the graduation ceremony."

A flicker of a memory, laying on an operating table, horrified and scared and unable to move.

"What if I fail?" she asks, and her words are her younger self. 

Her hand is steady as she points the gun at her target, blasting off shot after shot. A faceless victim with a bag over their head. 

"You never fail."

She shoots to kill.

-  

She tries to fail on purpose; she's sloppy when tested in hand-to-hand combat because she does not want to pass, does not want to graduate. She wants out of this nightmare, but the only way out is an even worse option.

"Sloppy, pretending to fail." Madame has caught onto her games easily enough. Natasha is not fooling anyone. She could have taken down the man she is fighting in ten seconds flat if she'd really been trying. 

"The ceremony is necessary..."

 _Ceremony_. Like it's some fucking celebration. 

"…for you to take your place in the world."

"I have no place in the world."

She's being rolled on her gurney to the operation, passing young girls with no mouths. The message is clear: _you have no voice here_.

She's wheeled away into more nightmares. 

* * *

When Natasha finally starts to come back to herself, it's already too late.

"What happened with Bruce?" she whispers to Clint as Tony is helping Bruce into the quinjet and her senses are finally beginning to reawaken. 

Bruce won't look at her, only the ground, and Tony ushers him to a seat and wraps a blanket around him in an act of surprising tenderness. 

That's when she knows something has gone very wrong. 

Clint keeps his voice low enough for only her to hear. "Banner destroyed a pretty big portion of Johannesburg. The Scarlet Witch showed up, fucked with his head, just like you. The Hulk…he didn't take it too well."

Natasha knows the guilt she's feeling must read clear on her face.

Barton shakes his head. "He wasn't himself, Nat, he'd had his mind messed with. For all we know, the lullaby wouldn't have worked, and the Hulk would've hurt you, too. Don't blame yourself for this. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't even Banner's fault. It just...happened."

She's quiet for several moments, then let's out a resigned, "Fuck."

"Yeah," Clint agrees, and he squeezes Natasha's shoulder briefly. "I gotta go pilot this thing. Are you okay?"

She nods, and they both know it's a lie. But it's a lie they both need, for a few hours. "I'm fine. Go get us out of here."

Natasha wants to go to Bruce, to speak with him and reassure him, but she can't seem to make herself move from her seat, let alone figure out what to say. He won't want to see her now, and she doesn't think she really has it in her, anyway. Her mind is all mixed up, full of memories she hasn't reflected on in a long time. Images of ballerinas are still dancing in her mind, pirouetting and waltzing around, the only discontinuity in the lines of their bodies are broken by the guns in their hands - a very different kind of extension. She wants to go see how Bruce is doing, but it's hopeless all around because Bruce is not okay in the least, and neither is she. Her waking nightmares have left her more shaken than she's been since the time she accidentally tried to choke the life from Bruce. Maybe not even then. She won't be a help. She could barely formulate words long enough to get some answers out of Clint and feign being okay. 

The flight is silent, and she doesn't know where they're going. She'd vaguely registered Clint saying something to Stark about a safe house, but she doesn't know which one he has in mind. It's not until they're moments from landing that she even realizes the safe house Clint was talking about is _his_ house.

She's a little surprised at Clint's sudden willingness to share his secrets with the team, but she's relieved at where he's taken them. She's always felt more comfortable in her own skin at the farm, more at home. And she could really use some familiarity right now. Clint wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders when they land and head toward the house, ushering her inside with the rest of the Avengers following in tow. 

She'd smirk at the group's surprise over Clint's family if she weren't so exhausted. But she has to smile when Lila and Cooper come rushing in.

"Did you bring Auntie Nat?" 

Some of the exhaustion melts away as Lila rushes into her arms, and Natasha lifts her with a grin that feels much more genuine than she thought would be possible after a day like the one she’s had. She risks a glance at Bruce after putting Lila down, but the eye contact is too intimate, too raw, and she has to look away after only a second.

"I missed you," Natasha tells Laura a few moments later because she needs the segue and also because it's true. 

She's known for months that Laura is pregnant, but she's yet to actually see the evidence until now.

"How's little Natasha?"

"She's…Nathaniel." 

She leans down to talk to Laura's stomach. "Traitor." 

Laura laughs. "He'll still be a Nathaniel in your honor."

"I should hope so."

They make small talk for a few minutes, and Natasha asks Laura some about the pregnancy and the new renovations to the house. It's all empty, hollow words, and she thinks that Laura knows she's not really present in the conversation. She's not really there at all. She's still trapped in the Red Room. The Scarlet Witch has sent her back in time, picked off old scabs and let fresh blood start to flow again. Natasha feels entirely unsettled. She knows being here, a place she feels at home, helps steady her, but nothing can fix the feelings that have been reawakened within her right now. 

When Laura briefly asks Natasha about her thoughts on lodging (because while the house is big for four people, it's not quite so big when they've got a team of superheroes staying there), she tells Laura to give Bruce the spare room she usually stays in. He could use the space, she thinks, after the day he's had. So could she, and she'd like to stay there with him, honestly, but she's not planning on pushing the topic tonight. It has been a long day for all of them. There's always a couch for her downstairs, and she knows for a fact that it's comfortable. She's fallen asleep on it in front of the TV on more than one occasion, on night's when the silence of the bedroom left her mind too open for unwelcome thoughts.

Everyone eventually disperses to shower and wash the day off of themselves, and Natasha lingers in the guest bedroom as Bruce uses the bathroom. It's the first moment she's had alone to herself in a few hours, and when her mind flashes back to memories best left forgotten, she thinks maybe she doesn't need the time alone, after all. All she can see is the surgery. Being rolled past mouthless girls, incapable of speaking out. 

She shakes herself at the sound of the shower being turned off.

Bruce exits the bathroom a few minutes later, freshly shaved and shirtless. He seems surprised by the sight of her.

Natasha stands.

"I didn't realize you were waiting," he says.

She tries to make light of it all. "I would've joined you, but uh, it didn't seem like the right time." 

She attempts to smile, but she knows it does not really reach her eyes. 

He seems embarrassed by the statement. "I used up all the hot water."

"I should've joined you."

"Missed our window," he says offhandedly.

She can't help the way she suddenly turns serious. "Did we?"

Bruce looks down, seemingly unable to hold her meaningful look. 

She wants to talk about this _now_. And maybe it's not the best timing, with the day they've both had, while they are bruised and battered and have had their minds invaded. But she wants it on the table because it has been a horrible day, and she's tired of not being honest with the man for whom she's fallen. She's tired of waiting. _Fuck_ waiting. This day has been hell, and terrible things are happening, and she wants Bruce to know who he is in her life. Now. In their line of work, there may not _be_ a later. Today has certainly proven that. 

He walks across the room, and she thinks it's to avoid eye contact with her. 

"The world just saw the Hulk, the real Hulk, for the first time." He puts down his towel after a moment of pacing and finally meets her gaze, eyes more vulnerable than she's perhaps ever seen them. 

He shrugs on his shirt. "You know I have to leave."

She’s quick to respond, "And you assume that I have to stay?"

Because the fact is, if Bruce is leaving, she wants to go with him. She doesn’t want to picture her life without him in it. 

Her voice is low and strained when she speaks. "I had this, um, dream." Her voice strengthens as she pushes through. "The kind that seems normal at the time, but when you wake…"

Bruce approaches slowly. "What did you dream?"

Her expression hardens as she replies. "That I was an Avenger. That I was anything more than the assassin they made me."

He looks pained at her statement and takes a step closer to her. "I think you're being hard on yourself."

She takes the opportunity when she sees it, moving towards him with a tremulous but suggestive smile. "And here I was hoping that was your job."

They're inches away now, the smallest of spaces left between them.

She can feel his breath on her when he speaks in a low voice, "What are you doing?"

He shakes his head.

She thinks back to their conversation at the bar just a few days ago. When everything was easy and full of hope and their hearts were light, however briefly. 

"I'm running with it." She brings a hand to his cheek, stroking with a gentle touch. "With you."

He catches her hand in his, wrapping his fingers around hers. 

She continues, "If running's the plan…as far as you want."

Bruce pulls away. "Are you out of your mind?"

Natasha feels her heart drop from her chest and land somewhere in the pit of her stomach. 

He crosses the room and looks away again, so she continues.

"I want you to understand that, um - "

He cuts her off, voice hardening and eyes pained. "Natasha…where can I go? Where in the world am I not a threat?"

She shakes her head quickly and moves toward him. "You're not a threat to me."

"You sure? Even if I didn't just…" he shakes his head and breaks off. "There's no future with me." 

He sounds completely hopeless as he continues, "I can't, ever," he looks around the room, gesturing at Lila and Cooper's drawings, "I can't have _this_ , kids. Do the math, I physically _can't_."

She feels gutted by statement, feels terrible for his pain, but almost hopeful all the same. If that's his reason, he doesn't have a reason at all. 

It's the last thing she hasn't told him, really. About her surgery - the procedure that's been playing in her mind on an endless loop for the past several hours. He knows so much about her already; she's told him more than anyone. But she's never told anyone _this_. Not a soul. 

With more resolve than she knew she had, she replies, "Neither can I."

Now Bruce is the one looking gutted.

"In the Red Room where I was trained," she can hear the vulnerability leaking into her voice as she continues, but she does nothing to hide it. She’s tired of hiding from him. "Where I was _raised_ ," she corrects herself because she wants him to truly understand. "They have a graduation ceremony."

Natasha's vision blurs slightly, and she thinks her eyes must be full of unshed tears while she tells the story. 

"They sterilize you."

The words feel heavy in the room, and she gives a little half shrug like it's not important, like it doesn't matter. Like it doesn't still haunt her. She knows that he sees through the lie. It's not a very believable gesture. She is an impeccable liar when she chooses to be, but she is not trying to lie about this. She wants him to read the truth in her eyes. To understand. 

"It's efficient," she continues, nodding her way through the speech because she needs _something_ to distract from the emotions bubbling up inside her. "One less thing to worry about. The one thing that might matter more than a mission." She shakes her head as he looks on in horror. "It makes everything easier…even killing."

Bruce swallows hard in response, jaw clenching. 

"You still think you're the only monster on the team?"

She doesn't have to ask if he knows what she means - he's known she thinks she's a monster for being the killer that she is since their conversation on the roof all those months ago. She's a monster for what they made her become. Hard, callous. Someone who can kill without a second thought. 

He takes a moment to process before turning his gaze back to her. 

"So we disappear?"

His argument really is gone, and she grants him as much of a smile as she can muster. A tiny quirk of the lips underneath all the evident pain. 

She takes a moment to gather herself before responding. "Sounds like as good a plan as any."

Bruce takes a hesitant step toward her. "You really want to do this? Give up everything? Come with me?"

"Yeah," she replies, voice breaking a little. It's an honest reply. This is nothing she ever saw for herself in the past, but for once in her life she wants something for _herself_. Not because she's trying to wipe out the red in her ledger, not because she's trying to make amends for her past. She wants something for herself, and she wants it to be _him_. 

They both deserve something good, after all the horrors they've both survived. 

She nods. "I really do."

It all sounds so hopelessly romantic, running away together. It's not something she ever thought she would want. But she wants _him_. He's broken down her walls, pushed past every last one of her defenses. He's gotten under her skin in a way she didn't think anyone would ever be capable of doing. 

She thinks that maybe this is _love_ , these feelings she has for Bruce Banner. She's trying not to over-think it, not focus on it too hard, because she knows what love can do to a person. How it can rip people apart from the inside out. And she thinks that somehow she wants it, all the same. Every terrifying moment that she knows just can't end well (because the realist in her knows that all things end, eventually, that nothing lasts forever). But she wants to live through their story and see how it plays out, craves it in her bones and in her bloodstream. She knows deep down that nothing ever lasts, but she can still picture it all somehow, the two of them shacked up some place across the globe with only each other and their stupid, sappy love. She thinks maybe she could find some peace in that, somehow, and that maybe he could too, with her. 

And it's all so terribly idealistic, she realizes, which is _ridiculous_ for her because she is the very opposite of idealism. Natasha knows the harsh truths of this life better than most, but this thing with Bruce has given her hope. She's never needed him for that, she's been coming toward this on her own, changing and growing, but he represents something to her that she thinks she has actually wanted for a long time and just did not allow herself to realize until now. She loves him, she thinks, and she wants this thing with him to become something _real_ , to have a chance to flourish. Because she believes that just maybe they could be pretty damn great together, given the chance. That maybe they already are. The relationship they've carefully crafted is tenuous and still fragile, but their connection is steady and strong. And she wants to give it a real chance.

He's looking at her like she is the whole world, like she is the sun and the stars and everything good in this life that he doesn't think he deserves. He looks at her like she is the embodiment of hope. His mouth curls up in a shadow of a smile.

"Yeah?" is all he responds with, but she can read everything in his eyes, the way he wants this more than anything. How grateful he is that she may want it, too. She breathes a sigh of relief.

"Yeah," she agrees, feeling something angry and scarred inside her untwisting and disappearing. She feels liberated when she smiles.  "Let's run away together, doc."

* * *

Nick comes by for dinner, and they all discuss their plans for Ultron at length. Lila and Cooper are running around the living room and kitchen, Lila giving Natasha a picture she drew of a butterfly just for her. Bruce starts to figure things out about how Ultron plans to evolve, staring at the picture sitting on the table in front of them. They work for a while, until it gets very late and the strain of the day takes a toll on everyone enough to head to bed. It's too late in the night for them to do anything. They're far too run down from the day's battle to be efficient. Mistakes happen when people are exhausted, and this is no time for mistakes. Laura insists that they stay the night, and they divide up amongst themselves, heading upstairs to bed. 

Natasha lingers in the living room as everyone starts to go their separate ways, eyeing the couch with a hint of distaste. 

Everyone else has dispersed, except Bruce who remains at the foot of the stairs looking at her inquisitively. 

"Where are you sleeping?" he asks, face guarded.

She gestures to the couch beside her. "Here, probably. There aren't enough rooms for all of us, even with the kids bunking with Clint and Laura. I've certainly slept on worse."

In fact, the couch is pretty damn comfy by her standards.

Bruce rubs the back of his neck, like he often does when he's nervous, and she anticipates what he's about to say before he says it. The nervousness is written all over his face.

"Um," he clears his throat. "Well, the bed I'm taking is pretty big. I don't exactly need all that space. If you don't feel like roughing it."

It's an excuse, she knows, because they’re both aware that her crashing on the Barton's sofa is by no means _roughing it_ , but she appreciates the sentiment behind the offer.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Sure you don't mind?"

He flushes a little, and it's obvious that he most certainly doesn't mind in the least. Bruce isn't just offering out of some misplaced sense of nobility. He _wants_ to a share a bed with her. She finds it pretty endearing.

"I don't mind at all," he responds with an adorably awkward shrug. 

Natasha smiles wide. "Sounds good to me."

* * *

They settle into bed twenty minutes later, Natasha sliding beneath the covers beside him. 

It's not the first time they've fallen asleep together, but it is the first time it's been planned. And it is most certainly their first time in the same bed. 

Bruce shifts toward the edge of the mattress, giving her as wide a berth as possible.

Natasha has to contain an eye roll. "You know I don't actually bite, right?"

Her statement seems to ease his awkwardness and he replies in an amused voice, "That's _not_ what I've read about black widows."

She laughs under her breath and just barely refrains from calling him a dork. 

"All the same, I think you're safe. You don't have to put yourself in danger of falling off the bed." 

He scoots back toward her with an embarrassed smile. "Sorry. I just haven't slept in a bed with anyone else in…a while."

She thinks that ' _a while_ ' is probably a pretty serious understatement, but she lets it slide. It's been awhile for her, too, since her last mission with Clint where they'd been undercover as a married couple and had to share a bed for a couple weeks. (It sucked - Barton snored loudly and scratched her with his overlong toenails in his sleep. She thinks Laura may actually be a saint for putting up with him. Natasha sent her a pair of earplugs as soon as they got back.)

"You'll be fine," she tells him, placing a hand on his chest. "Just like riding a bike."

She winks at him and settles down into her pillow a few inches from him, curled up on her side and leaving her hand on his chest. He's still wearing the button up he put on earlier, and she works her thumb in-between two of the buttons to stroke a tiny patch of skin on his chest back and forth in an easy motion. He stills under her touch but starts to relax as she continues her little, gentle ministrations. His breathing begins to slow, and Natasha moves closer by a fraction of an inch, resting the top of her head against his shoulder. They're not cuddling, exactly, just resting beside each other with little points of contact between them, drawing strength. 

Bruce falls asleep first, breathing patterns evening out fifteen minutes later, and Natasha follows him into sleep after a few more minutes, hand still resting on his chest, head against his shoulder. Her last thought before she falls asleep is that she could really get used to sharing a bed with Bruce Banner.

* * *

The horrors won't stop, won't leave her alone. She's got a gun in her hands, aiming at a masked figure, and she shoots and shoots and shoots until she's out of bullets and there is blood coating the floors. Mouthless girls stare on in horror, but they can't speak, and she suddenly realizes that neither can she. She wants to talk, wants to shout, wants to scream that she does not want to do this, wants no part of it, but her mouth will not move. No sound will come out. She turns to the wall of mirrors in the dance studio and sees that she too is missing a mouth. Natasha is as voiceless as she has ever been, back in the Red Room.

The scene changes, and she's in the recovery room after her surgery. Madame is stroking her hair, telling her that she did well, that now she can graduate and make them all proud. That everything will be simpler now. 

She wants to cry out and disagree, but her mouth is still missing.

* * *

Natasha doesn't startle awake. She never does, but the jolt she feels internally is just as disconcerting. She remains still and takes a moment to collect herself and her thoughts. It takes her a little while to place her surroundings - she's in the guest bedroom at the Barton's and the chest beneath her hand is none other than Bruce Banner's. Her memories come back to her in increments, and she opens her eyes slowly. The clock on the bedside table reads 2:04 AM, and she is unsurprised that she has not gotten more than a couple hours of sleep. The nightmares were expected, after the mental manipulation she received courtesy of the Scarlet Witch. 

She blinks the sleep from her eyes and climbs out of the bed. She's feeling parched and restless, and she leaves the room as quietly as she can, heading downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. 

Natasha thought she would be the only one there, but a light is already on in the kitchen when she arrives. She doesn't really feel like talking to anyone and briefly considers heading back upstairs, but she really is thirsty, so she braves the kitchen anyway. She breathes a sigh of relief when she finds it's only Laura, eating peanut butter off a spoon, jar in hand. 

Natasha raises her eyebrows at her in questioning, gesturing toward the jar.

Laura shrugs. "Late night craving. What are you doing up?"

"Just need a glass of water," Natasha responds, voice sounding a little too raw for her own liking. 

"Doing okay?" Laura asks, though Natasha is fairly certain she already knows the answer to the question.

Natasha shrugs in response. She grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with water, grabbing a few ice cubes from the freezer and dropping them in with a _plunk_.

"Rough day," is all Natasha says. Laura seems to understand. 

"I can probably help with that," Laura responds before dropping her spoon in the jar of peanut butter and reaching into one of the kitchen cabinets. 

She hands Natasha a bottle of vodka.

"You know me too well," Natasha responds with a little smile, gulping down the rest of her water and pouring a few ounces of vodka into the glass.

"Someone has to," Laura grins. There's a moment of silence before she continues, "Though it seems to me that someone else in this house is getting to know you pretty damn well."

Natasha groans. "Please tell me we are not about to talk about _guys_. Today has been weird enough already. Don’t make it even weirder."

Laura laughs. "Dr. Banner, huh?"

She takes a long drink from her glass and makes a noncommittal noise.

"C'mon, Nat, I'm not blind. Even if my husband seems to be pretty clueless on the topic."

"Oh god, did you _ask_ him about us?"

She wonders briefly if this is what junior high would've been like if she'd attended.

"He was just as oblivious as ever. How long has it been going on?"

Natasha sighs and takes another long drink. "I don't know. Depends on a matter of perspective. We've been friends for a while now."

"But you're certainly more than friends now."

"We are," she agrees. "But it's…we haven't…" she sighs. "It's new. It's been building for a while, but it's really new. We haven't even _kissed_."

Natasha shakes her head and finishes her vodka because she cannot believe she is having this conversation. She is talking about her love life with her best girl friend. It's an out of body experience. But Laura is also one of her best friends and seems to want to talk about it, and god, she could actually use a little input on this. She's pretty damn new at this whole relationship thing, and Laura is a seasoned pro. 

"But you have feelings for him?" Laura hedges, licking peanut butter off her spoon. 

Natasha nods and grabs the bottle of vodka to pour herself another. This is not a conversation she is willing to have sober. 

"And he feels the same?"

Natasha nods again. "We're just now both acknowledging it out loud. Or are starting to, anyway."

She wants to tell Laura about how she's planning on dropping everything and running away with him, how the air has shifted between them and things have become so _real_ now. But she's worried that if she tells Laura her plans, she'll tell her husband. And Clint might try and talk her out of it. She doesn't want to be talked out of this. She wants to run, to get away from all the chaos and find something new and real with Bruce. 

"He seems really good for you, Nat."

Natasha tilts her head. "You've barely even met him."

"I've heard plenty from Clint. And I know _you_. I'm glad you found someone, Natasha."

She takes another long drink. Things are good with her and Bruce right now, but she's not oblivious to the problems they face. "Let's not speak too soon."

Laura gives her a sympathetic smile. "You'll work it out." 

"I hope so."

She finishes her vodka and puts her glass in the dishwasher. "Thanks for the drink."

"Anytime," Laura responds. "You know that."

Natasha turns to leave.

"Hey Nat?"

She pauses in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"You deserve to be happy. Don't forget that, okay?"

A small smile graces her lips in response. She's not entirely certain she agrees, but she hopes her friend is right. 

"Night, Laura."

"Goodnight."

* * *

The bed is empty when Natasha returns to the guest bedroom. She hears water running in the bathroom and hopes she didn't wake Bruce when she left the room earlier.

"Bruce?" 

The bathroom door opens a moment later, and he comes wandering out, looking anguished. 

"Hey," he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Hey," she replies. "You okay?"

He shrugs. "Nightmare. No surprises there."

She smiles sadly. "Me too. I didn't wake you, did I?"

He shakes his head. "No, I was out when you left. Just woke up a few minutes ago."

Natasha nods. "You want to talk about it?"

Bruce looks uncertain. "They're always worse after an incident. And this was a pretty serious incident."

He turns to the window and pulls open the blinds, looking out.

Natasha approaches and gives him a knowing look. "Wishing this place had rooftop access?"

Bruce gives her a rueful half-smile. "That obvious?"

"Only because I know you pretty well." 

She wants to tell him that when he's feeling cooped up and restless, he starts to look a bit like a caged animal. But she doesn't think that particular turn of phrase will help very much tonight.

He tilts his head and gives her a speculative look. "I guess you do, huh?"

"That such a bad thing?" she hedges. 

His voice is raw. "I thought it would be."

"And what do you think now, Bruce?"

He waits a beat before responding. "I think maybe it's not so bad, after all."

A hint of a smile flickers across her face. "Me too."

His tone turns hopeful. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she agrees resolutely. "Considering the lack of roof access…you want to go for a walk?"

He looks a little surprised by the offer. She hopes that one day he'll stop looking so taken aback when someone wants to help him.

Bruce nods. "That sounds nice. It is feeling a little…cramped in here."

"Geez, doc, I don't take up _that_ much room in the bed, do I?"

His eyes widen. "What? No, I didn't mean…"

Natasha smirks. 

He sighs. "You're just teasing, aren't you?"

"Yup." She gestures toward the door. "C'mon. I'll show you the trail out back."

* * *

He seems to relax as soon as they reach the outdoors. She thinks being in a cramped house, full of his friends, a pregnant stranger, and two children, must make him mighty uncomfortable when he's still recovering from a Hulk-out. Most of the tenseness fades from his body with the wide open space, and she takes his hand in hers as they walk. He stiffens just slightly at the gesture, but he relaxes again after only a moment. He's still getting used to intimate contact. She knows because it's the same with her - it's immersion therapy for both of them. But she knows he enjoys the touch because his hand grips hers tightly after a few seconds, and he begins to carefully run the rough pad of his thumb along her hand after a few minutes. 

They head back inside after only an hour. It's already pushing 3:30 in the morning, and they have a big day ahead of them. They've finally got a proper lead on Ultron, and it's time to take him down, come hell or high water. 

This time when they slide into the bed together, they both meet in the middle of the mattress. Bruce doesn't tense when Natasha rests her head on his chest. He just presses a light kiss into her hair and pulls her tight against him, and they both relax into sleep together. 

* * *

They wake at dawn, and there's no real time to talk before they have to be up and out and ready to move. She catches his eye for the briefest of moments, nodding at him imperceptibly, trying to get her point across - they may be separating for now, but they will reunite. And then they'll run away. Together. She grants him a hint of a smile, which he returns for a fleeting moment before leaving with Fury. She heads out after Steve and Clint a few minutes later. 

There's work to be done.

* * *

The following battle is fierce and fast, and Natasha has more fun riding Cap's motorcycle than she probably should for someone who is in a life or death situation. The almost suicide mission is less fun, diving into the flight-capable truck and clinging to the package as it shoots into the air toward Clint.

Then Ultron takes her.

All she can think as cool, robotic hands grab her is, _fuck_.

It's hardly the first time she's been taken hostage, but she's never been taken by a sadistic, powerful sentient robot before, so that's unfortunately new territory. She can't fight him like this. She's out of widow’s bites, which probably wouldn't help anyway, and hand to hand combat with a piece of machinery isn't going to be effective and will only serve to break the bones in her hands. 

He knocks her out not long after he grabs her, and she awakens to find herself in Ultron's base just in time to watch him evolve. 

When he locks her behind bars, for a moment she wonders if she should start worrying. 

But she’s Natasha Romanoff. She’s never been beaten yet, and today is _not_ going to be the day of her demise. She’ll get out of this, like she always does. It just may take a little planning. 

Ultron has locked her in with plenty of low-key tech, so it’s not long before she manages to get a message out, knowing Clint will be watching their old channels in her absence, in case she can make contact. 

* * *

She thinks it’s Barton when she hears a noise, knowing he would have been the one to receive her message. 

Then she hears a voice, warm and worried and calling her name. _Bruce_.

Natasha stands and grabs the bars as he appears. He looks harried and a little desperate, but his anxiety seems to melt away when he sees her, replaced with a subtle confidence.  

“Are you alright?” he asks and places a hand on top of hers.

She warms minutely at the contact. “Yeah.”

“The team’s in the city. It’s about to light up.”

“I don’t suppose you found a key lying around somewhere?”

“Yeah,” he replies in a voice that contains more self-assurance than she’s used to from him. He backs up, toting a giant gun. “I did.”

Natasha has to contain a laugh and moves out of the way, pressing herself against a wall,  grateful for his foresight. 

Bruce blasts the lock clean off, and she’s finally free. 

“So what’s our play?” she asks as she steps out of the cell. 

“I’m here to get you to safety.”

She pauses at that, surprised by his willingness to leave when the team is still out there fighting. She knows he’s still reeling from the recent incident in Johannesburg, still dealing with the aftermath. He won’t really want to be around people, she understands that, but she thought he’d at least want to see the work done first before leaving.  

“Job’s not finished.”

“We could help with the evacuation, but I can’t be in a fight near civilians. And you’ve done plenty.” 

Maybe she has done plenty, but there is still a lot to do. She can feel the room rattle. 

He takes a step toward her. “Our fight is over.”

She wants it to be true, _god_ , she wants it to be true so badly that she almost believes him.

“So we just disappear?” 

And she means it. She _wants_ it. Wants _him_ , so much. Wants it to be that simple. 

They start to leave and the walls begin to crumble around them, but she knows, _knows_ in her gut, the job’s not done, it’s not done at _all_ , and she can’t leave like this. Not when there’s work to be done. 

That’s who she is. 

She wants to be with him. She wants to be with Bruce Banner more than she’s ever wanted anything for herself, but she can’t leave like this, knowing there are lives at stake that she could be saving. Knowing there could be people out there dying because Natasha’s not in the fight. She’s got more than enough red in her ledger; she can’t live with consciously adding more. 

Natasha absolutely adores him. But it’s right then that she realizes she can’t leave. God, she wants to leave with him, wishes she could run away and build a new life with Bruce in some other corner of the world. 

But there’s work to be done, and she needs to do it.

She’s been trying to discover who she really is ever since she blew all of her covers, trying to figure out if she’s in the job because she truly wants to be or if she feels like she _has_ to be. Becoming a spy was something she had decided for her at an early age, her choices taken away, but she has a choice now. 

 _This_ is who she is. Natasha Romanoff is someone who can’t leave the fight when there’s still work to do. When there are still lives to save. 

She hadn’t been lying to Bruce when she told him she wanted to run with him. It had been the truth. On so many levels, it still is. She wants to be with him. Wants that for herself as much as she wants to wipe her ledger clean. But she can’t leave the fight. And she won’t. That’s not who she is.  

She’s an Avenger.

And so is Bruce.

She hopes to hell he’ll see that, too, after she does what she’s about to do.

“We gotta move,” he says, watching the walls deteriorate around them, gravel falling. 

“You’re not gonna turn green?”

“I’ve got a compelling reason not to lose my cool.”

And she wants to kiss him so badly, realizes this could be her last chance, and decides to do just that. 

“I adore you.”

It’s a last ditch effort, a prayer that he’ll still want to be with her when it’s all said and done. She takes his face in her hands like she’s imagined a hundred times and presses her lips to his. It’s fast and intense and lingering, and his chapped, unpracticed lips feel perfect against hers. It hurts more than she can imagine to break it off, but it’s what she does next that really wounds.

She pushes him off the ledge.

“But I need the Other Guy.”

Because she _does_. She hates to do it, hates it with everything in her, but she _has_ to. The job’s not done, and there are lives at stake, and they are fighting a losing battle. They _need_ the Hulk. Bruce is too scared right now to go out there on his own, after everything that happened in Johannesburg. She understands that. But they _need_ him. The Big Guy is an asset, and they need him in the field if they want to win. And losing isn’t an option. Not with all these lives at stake. 

So she makes the hard choice.

She pushes him.

And hopes with everything in her that he’ll forgive her for it. 

The Hulk grins wide when he greets her a few moments later, ready for the fight. 

She prays that on some level Bruce is feeling the same.

“Let’s finish the job.”

* * *

She uses one of her favorite maneuvers -  one she knows Bruce is actively horrified by but she just can’t help but love - where she clings to the Hulk, arms wrapped around his neck, and he runs and leaps through the sky to join the battle. 

But it’s a rough and bumpy sort of ride, and when he tosses her from his back on impact and she dive rolls to the ground, she knows her body will be littered with bruises come tomorrow. 

“I really hope this makes us even,” she tells him, taking deep, recovering breaths. 

He grunts.

“Now go be a hero.”

She smiles when he runs off, and they both join the fight. 

* * *

There is a moment, Natasha realizes, where she thinks they all might die. Stark has a way to stop the damage from destroying everyone below, but it would still vaporize the city and everyone on it. But there’s no way of evacuating, and the civilians are going nowhere. Steve seems offended when she suggests Stark should blow the place up if he has a clear shot, horrified that she would leave everyone behind and save herself. But that’s not what she’s thinking, not what she’s planning. If these people are going down, she’s going down with them. In the fight.

Natasha thinks briefly of Bruce, wondering if the Hulk can withstand such a blast. She thinks he probably can. She has to believe it, anyway.

Thankfully it doesn’t come to that.

Fury shows up with an old S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier and they’re able to usher all the remaining civilians to safety. 

They fight together to protect the core from Ultron, joined by the Maximoff twins (something she hadn’t expected but begrudgingly accepts because they really _do_ need the help), and someone everyone keeps calling the Vision, without explanation. 

When their fighting is done, Natasha finds the Hulk in what appears to be a dilapidated playground, broken jungle gyms strewn around in bits and pieces. His work is done now. His fight really is over.

Natasha approaches, removing her glove.

“Hey, Big Guy. Sun’s getting real low.”

She raises a hand, and he turns with a huff and joins her. Then he reaches out slowly, giant hand extending toward hers, mirroring her gesture. 

But then there’s sudden gunfire, and she’s being thrown into the air, and everything goes dark. 

* * *

Natasha can feel the wind in her hair when she wakes. 

She keeps her eyes closed for a moment, as always, trying to understand her surroundings, but everything about this is unfamiliar other than the confused grogginess that comes with being knocked unconscious, so she blinks her eyes open.

She sees clouds all around her and recognizes the not quite familiar sensation of being held.  

It only takes a second to realize that what’s cradling her is the Hulk’s massive hand. He’s carrying her, must have picked her up when she’d been knocked unconscious by the blast after the failed lullaby. He’s being gentle, so desperately careful not to hurt her, and she can see so much of Bruce in him in that moment. He’d be horrified to know she thinks so - in fact, _both_ of them would be, Bruce and Hulk alike - but she can see it, then. It’s not the first time she’s had the thought, but it is the first time it’s been so readily apparent. 

Then he’s landing hard on his feet and placing her carefully on the ground of the helicarrier, then running away from her in giant leaps.  

* * *

“Hey, Big Guy.”

Natasha has boarded the helicarrier and patched video through to the quinjet the Hulk is currently wandering. She can see his massive green form on the other side of the ship and watches as he turns his head in confusion at the sound of her voice, looking for her. 

“We did it,” she continues, watching as he slowly begins to approach the screen. “The job’s finished. Now I need you to turn this bird around, okay?”

The Hulk comes closer, staring at her with an expression she can’t quite place. 

“We can’t track you in stealth mode…so help me out.”

He reaches a hand out towards her where she knows her face is lighting up the screen in front of him. It’s a gesture she’s seen dozens of times before - she thinks for a moment that maybe he’s trying to initiate the lullaby through the video call. It looks like he’s reaching for her even when she’s not really there.

But she’s wrong.

He’s not reaching out to her at all. 

He’s hanging up.

A second after she starts to request he make the quinjet trackable, he swipes his giant hand and hangs up on her. She’s left staring at a blank screen, no Hulk or Bruce in sight. 

And she can’t track him.

He’s gone, along with the breath from her lungs.  

* * *

Natasha holds onto hope for a few days. Maybe the Big Guy was just tired. Maybe he just didn’t feel like changing back and knew she’d want Bruce to make a reappearance. Maybe Bruce will forgive her after a good night’s sleep or two and decide to make contact. Maybe he’s just waiting until he’s somewhere safe and secluded and off the radar to let her know he’s okay and where he is and that he still wants her to join him.

She gives up on hope after a week. 

Bruce is gone and doesn’t want to be found. He left her behind.

Natasha can’t help but remember the conversation they had less than two weeks ago.

_"Did he…was he…what did he do that was so…wrong to you?"_

_"Not a damn thing. But never say never."_

Looks like she’s eating her words, after all.

* * *

Natasha doesn’t mourn. 

She doesn’t allow herself. 

She feels a lot of things about Bruce Banner, a painful combination of wrenching grief and furious anger, but there’s no time for it and no place for it when she has to keep moving on. If there is one thing that Natasha is absolutely skilled at, it is compartmentalizing her emotions and pushing onward, clear-headed. It’s just a skill she’d hoped she’d never have to use with _him_.

They move the Avengers training facility upstate, and there’s work to be done. There’s always work to be done in this job, and there are new Avengers to train. She and Steve have decided to pair up and train the ever-changing team together in the new headquarters. 

There’s no time for mourning him, what they could have been, no time for what-ifs. They are pointless and childish, and she has no place for them in her life. She has to keep moving. There’s always something to be done. But occasionally, just occasionally, she’ll find herself staring off into space or out a window or at a blank wall in the training facility and let her mind wander. She wonders where he is, what he’s doing. If he misses her (like she misses him, and _fuck_ does she hate admitting just how much she misses him; she does not want to miss someone who doesn’t want her, who has left her behind). 

It’s on one such of these occasions when she’s staring at a blank wall, wondering where Bruce is right now and how he’s handling life on his own again, when Fury comes to her with intel on exactly that. 

He’s located what he thinks is the quinjet, says the Big Guy probably swam to Fiji from the sea. He still can’t track the jet. Stark’s stealth tech is too damn good. 

“He’ll send a postcard,” Fury tells her.

She gives a sad smile, contemplating what it would say. “Wish you were here.”

Natasha wonders exactly when Nick figured out what was going on with her and Bruce. Probably months ago. Hell, maybe from the very beginning. He had been the one to send her to India, after all. 

“You sent me to recruit him, way back when. Did you know then what was gonna happen?”

“You never know,” Nick sighs. “You hope for the best, then make due with what you get. I got a great team.”

“Nothing lasts forever.”

She’s always known it, always believed it, and now it’s been proven tenfold. Sometimes it really stings to be right. Natasha flashes him a half-smirk. 

“Trouble, Miss Romanoff. No matter who wins or loses, trouble still comes around.”

And he’s certainly right about that.

There’s always a job to do.

It’s why she made the decision she did; it’s why she pushed Bruce off that ledge.

There is always more work to be done, and the fight is who she is. 

Fury departs, and she’s left with her thoughts again.

Steve’s voice rings out a few minutes later. “Want to keep staring at the wall, or do you want to go to work?”

Natasha turns to him. “I thought you and Tony were still gazing into each other’s eyes.” She takes the tablet from his hand. “How do we look?” 

“Well we’re not the ‘27 Yankees.”

“We got some hitters.”

“They’re good,” Steve agrees. “They’re not a team.”

He’s right; they’re not a team yet. They’ve got some good fighters, individually, but they aren’t a unit yet. She thinks briefly of when they were first assembling the Avengers, a bunch of strangers who were good in a fight but who barely knew the first thing about each other. They’d come from all walks of life (she pushes away images of her first meeting with Bruce, clothed in a threadbare suit and a look of obvious distrust on his face), from all over the world and beyond. It took a lot of hard work and shared experiences to really bring them together. But they had become a team eventually, a true functioning unit. A little like a family, for a while. She thinks the new members can maybe get there eventually, too. 

A slow smirk settles on Natasha’s face.

“Let’s beat ‘em into shape.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the angsty ending. :( Don't blame me, blame the MCU execs/Whedon! It's canon-compliance! But there is hope! I am already working on the third and final story in this series that will be set Post-AoU. There will be angst abound for a bit of it, but I absolutely promise a happy ending. I've already written about 4,000 words in next story, so hopefully this one won't take me another two months. Thanks for sticking around, and I hope you enjoyed!


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